My One and Only(52)
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to Prish’s for dinner. Have fun. Good luck!”
I waved as he left, then called my pals and let them know I was free for the animated film festival at the Angelika theater. We all went and felt very sophisticated indeed. Actually, my friends were fairly sophisticated. And shallow and somewhat heartless, but they were better than nothing. I tried to keep up, tried not to feel like such a rube.
The waiter named Dare (short for Darrell, but dear God, don’t ever say that aloud) was a very intense guy…wanted to write the next tormented, twisted, bleak Great American Novel and had plans to get his MFA from somewhere very impressive. Jocasta and Prish both had the hots for him, as did just about every female who walked into Claudia’s. He had long blond hair and smoldering gray eyes, and he was tall and thin and made you want to feed him. He took himself very, very seriously, and hey, it worked. He flirted with me…well, not really. Flirting was beneath him. He stared intensely at me (between serving meals, of course). I knew he was interested, but I certainly didn’t lead him on.
The need to say something about Nick grew, but for whatever reason, I kept waiting. Maybe for him to remember he adored me, to do something so loving and memorable that all doubt would be forever swept away and we’d live happily ever after. Again…I was young and stupid. And the thing with secrets is, the longer you keep them, the more tightly rooted they become.
By the Night of the Unforgivable Event, I’d been working at Claudia’s for almost three months. It was December, and New York is never prettier than at the holidays, Christmas lights in every restaurant and coffeehouse, wreaths on the charming doors of the Village, menorahs winking in windows. Splashy, colorful displays shouted out from the big department stores, and Santa stood on every street corner. Finally, I was falling in love with New York.
As I walked to Claudia’s that night, lazy snowflakes swirling in the dusk, I stopped in front of a shop window. There sat a good-sized model of the Brooklyn Bridge, cast in bronze, solid and lovely. Nick would love it. I’d buy it for him for Christmas. For a second, it felt as if I was standing on the bridge again, Nick on one knee, those Charles Dickens gloves, his beautiful, happy eyes…
Something shifted in my chest, as if a rock had rolled off my heart. I loved my husband. We could get through this long, tough time. Maybe I’d even quit Claudia’s, find something more compatible with Nick’s schedule so we could figure out how to make this work. Tonight, I’d tell my buddies I was married, we’d have a few laughs, whatever.
It was the night of Claudia’s staff-only Christmas party, a Monday when the restaurant was closed. There were about twenty of us including the kitchen crew, and the party was in full swing when I arrived. Prish had commandeered the bar and handed me a cloyingly sweet peppermint drink. The restaurant was loud, bright, festive and happy, my coworkers already buzzed and thrilled to see me. Maybe tonight wasn’t the night for telling everyone about Nick. I’d do it at a more quiet time. That would be better.
Prish’s cocktail invention was vile, so I shook up a few special martinis made with cranberries and Grey Goose. The food was smashing, goat-cheese-and-dried-tomato pizzas and crab cakes with remoulade sauce. Ben wore a reindeer hat, Jocasta had on a blinking-light necklace and a glittery red miniskirt.
By 10 p.m., we all sat around the table in the middle of the restaurant, all of us with a few drinks in us (some with more than a few), all quite happy. At some point—I hadn’t noticed exactly when—Dare’s arm had gone around the back of my chair. Very casual. We were a close bunch by now, and affection was always given freely. We all hugged good-night like a bunch of eighth-grade girls, the guys would do that hand-clasp, lean-in thing and the women would kiss the men’s cheeks. Asking Dare to move his arm would only draw attention to it, so I left the subject alone.
This was a mistake.
Something tickled the back of my neck, and I jumped. Dare gave me a half-lidded, steamy glance, but he didn’t interrupt himself, just kept talking to Ben about some political battle over a federal court appointee. Taking Dare’s hand from my neck, I set it on his lap, and he gave me a sexy little smile. Didn’t touch me again.
After dinner, the noise level (and the alcohol level) had risen. Prish was singing into a fork, Ryan was drumming on the table, keeping time, Ben was rummaging for another bottle of wine, and suddenly Dare turned to me and said, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks now.” Then he took my face in his hands and did just that.
A wet, sloppy, drunken kiss, fairly horrible, tasted like roasted red peppers. The others burst into applause.
“About time!” Jocasta yelled. “He’s been giving you the eye for ages!”
I pushed away. “Don’t do that again,” I said, adrenaline flooding my legs. This was bad. This couldn’t…I didn’t…he should never have…I had to tell them—
My brain slammed to a halt.
Nick was standing on the street in front of Claudia’s, looking in the window. Looking at me. His mouth was slightly open, as if he didn’t quite believe what he’d just seen.
The blood drained from my face.
For a second, I thought he’d just walk away, and I jolted to my feet, bumping the table. “Nick!” I called, but he was already opening the door.
“Friend of yours?” Dare asked lazily, pouring me some more wine. I ignored him, but my legs started to shake.